


human up

by Amber



Series: Create Something Every Day! (October 2018) [14]
Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Adjusting to Humanity, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, F/M, Kissing, Nosebleed, October Prompt Challenge, Spoilers, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 17:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16309661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber/pseuds/Amber
Summary: Prompt 15: Nosebleed.(Contains spoilers for the premise of S3.)





	human up

"Eleanor. You have to help me." Michael rounds the corner with his hand clutched over his face, tone panicky. "I don't understand what's happening."

"What's new, bud," Eleanor asks rhetorically, a longsuffering wryness to his tone. Ever since her brand new demon friend had taken up residence on Earth, he'd come to her with a variety of problems, from mysterious skin growths to inappropriate levels of emotion to questions about the variable temperatures of his oven. It's a lot of work adjusting to being human — or at least, that's the impression she's been getting.

"My nose is leaking," he says.

"A cold?" Eleanor gives a not-quite-sincere sympathy wince while taking a step back in case he was contagious. "Geez, that sure is rough, but I don't think there's much I can—"

"No," says Michael, "It's not some common illness." He pulls his hand away and oh jesus' sweet baby ass it's filled with blood. More gushes down now that he's not stemming the flow, bright red, like, brain blood or whatever, that spills over his upper lip and drips to his chin. "I'm dying."

"Oh, eugh! Dude, gross!" objects Eleanor, though she's at least stopped backing away. "God, don't just— no! Don't just catch it in your hand. Get a tissue or something, or at least pinch it off!"

Michael pinches it off, looking like he's a cartoon character who's just smelled something disgusting. A cartoon vampire. Who just finished a meal. "Eleador," he says, with a stuffy-consonant.

"Okay, okay, listen. It's nothing to worry about. Lemme — lemme get you a tissue or something — _wow_ that's a lot of blood." She fishes in her purse, finds some barely used fast food napkins amidst the detritus of receipts and wrappers and loose tampons. "Here. Sit down. Tip your head back."

Eleanor wouldn't have called herself the nursing sort, but there is something kind of cool about fussing over someone. The way he just defers to her, takes the nearest seat and tips his head back, unpinching his nose. "I can feel it going down my throat," he says mournfully. "Oh, god, I can _taste_ myself."

"Maybe you're supposed to lean forward," Eleanor considers, trying to remember. Whatever, she stuffs the wad of napkins under his nose — "Hold this," — and then uses the cleanest to try and get some of the blood from around his nose. "Yeesh, that is uuuuh-gly. So, what'd'ja do to get smacked? You didn't go out with that frog pin again, did you? Because I've told you, frogs? In this political climate? Not the cute accessories you seem to think they are."

"No, no," says Michael, waving his hands because he can't shake his head. "Nothing like that. It just started on its own."

She cups the back of his head, silver hair bristling against her fingers as she slides her fingers down to his warm nape and tips his head forward. "Just got a nosebleed, huh? Well, that happens sometimes too. You're not dying. At least, not any faster than the rest of us."

Michael shudders at the reminder of his own mortality. Chidi's being trying to coach him through it, but it's a process. "But I didn't do anything to it," he says. "It just suddenly went wrong, and I don't understand why. Maybe if human bodies were manufactured by megacorporations who make a profit off built-in redundancies, like my iPhone, but I can't _replace_ my nose."

"Actually," says Eleanor, "That's called rhinoplasty, and it's a totally valid choice to make when you're seventeen and a lil altercation with some bitch in an Applebee's parking lot results in a deviated septum, buuut for a nosebleed? You're probably fine. Man up, ya wuss."

"Man up?" Michael echoes.

"You're right, that was unnecessarily gendered. Human up, bitch!"

Michael chuckles, reaches up and covers her hand to take the tissues from her, and it's gross because there's blood and who knows what other nose fluid, but it's also kind of nice. Eleanor swallows. "Okay yeah, seems like you got it. You can take it from here."

"No, no, sit with me," says Michael, then honks as he blows some of the blood out of his nose. "Just until it's stopped."

Despite herself, Eleanor sits. Wipes her hands off on her jean capris without thinking and then pulls a face when she realizes how stupid that was, Michael's blood no doubt gonna stain the denim. Yuk.

"You know, next time you have a medical emergency, I probably shouldn't be the first person you come to," she says. "I mean, I know Chidi," she does air quotes, " _Isn't a medical doctor, Jason_ , but he's still better at this stuff than me. And, you know, if you cut something off accidentally you should be heading straight to A&E, not hoping I have duct tape in my purse."

"I know," says Michael, glancing across at her. "But I was..." he pauses, trying to think of the word. She waits for him. Michael has trouble identifying emotions sometimes, no matter how many colourful charts Chidi makes him. "Scared," he says finally. "I was scared."

Eleanor puts a hand on his shoulder, and he leans into it, turning a little more towards her. For a demon who is factually way older than her and physically kinda a DILF, he sure does seem kinda young sometimes. She squeezes his trapezius (which, how is he still kinda ripped now that he's mortal? Does he do dancercize with Jason? No, focus Eleanor—) "Most people don't consider me a primo source of comfort, either," she points out.

"Most people don't know you that well," says Michael, factually. Eleanor stares at him for a second, lost for words.

Tentatively, he drops the napkins from his nose, wipes at his upper lip. "I think it's stopped."

"Looks like," she agrees, still staring. "Actually, though, you've still got a little, lemme just—"

Probably it's weird, to kiss someone who was just nosebleeding all over the place. And he does taste like blood. Blood that came from his nostrils. But honestly? Eleanor has put worse and weirder things in her mouth, and she _wants_ this. Stupidly, dangerously, she wants to kiss him, and even after so much time learning to be good she still sometimes has a little trouble with her self-control. Eating too much shrimp. Keeping her cool in traffic. Doing all three hours of Chidi's homework assignments if it's Bachelorette night. And, apparently, kissing a goddamn demon.

It's a nice kiss, though. He reaches up and holds her chin, careful, like he's worried about breaking her. Their heads tip, and their mouths slide warm, and she can hear her heartbeat in her own ears, practically thudding in time to _Danger Zone_ , which is the song that would be playing if this was a film because she's goddamn in it.

She breaks back. They both look startled at each other for a moment. 

"Okay!" says Eleanor. "We are— done here? So very done here." She stands. 

"Yes," says Michael, hoarse and discombobulated. "Of course. Thank you for—" he stands too, "If you, ah— here are your—"

"Y'know what? You keep 'em," Eleanor says generously, of the blood-soaked napkins he's trying to hand back. "And, wash your face, maybe, before you go anywhere. Okay. Great! Bye." She power-walks away, trying not to castigate herself for her absolute _idiocy_ aloud. Trying not to taste the copper in her mouth, the lingering memory of that brief, perfectly imperfect connection.


End file.
